


A Modern Plague

by reading_is_in



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, F/M, One Shot, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-28
Updated: 2010-08-28
Packaged: 2017-10-11 07:09:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/109795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reading_is_in/pseuds/reading_is_in
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The waitress's POV on one of Dean's typical interludes during the Stanford Era.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Modern Plague

**Author's Note:**

> Unrated because I have no idea what age this is suitable or not suitable for, but it isn't explicit. Suggest and I'll change. Ty.

She doesn't hate her job; she doesn't feel very much about it. People who work in diners are supposed to hate their jobs, aren't they? They do on TV. She sometimes watches TV when she gets in at night and she can't sleep and she doesn't have an early shift the next day.  
She works a lot of hours. She's trying to save up for college and they don't pay a lot. She's not doing well and college is looking less and less likely. She is getting older.  
He comes in on a Tuesday. She remembers it by the specials. Tuesday is House scrambled eggs which is basically just scrambled eggs with generic hot sauce from a bottle. She brings his burger. He gives her a typical come-on, obviously trying for a free coffee refill. Goes as far as to ask when she gets off, which she hasn't heard for a while. She must not look as tired as she feels. But then he looks kind of tired, too: he's her age, no older, but there are shadows both in and under his green eyes. Really green. That's unusual.

_iIsolation is a modern plague_, she reads in _Psychology Today_. It's our working hours. It's the internet. It's the commute. It's the breakdown of nuclear families. It's a hundred things.

He comes back in on Thursday and orders the special. It's chilli.  
"Thanks, Laura." He's read her nametag. She has a slightly visceral response to Southern accents, especially if they're not too obvious. The corner of her mouth quirks up.  
"Name's Jack," he tells her, unsolicited: "Jack O'Connor."  
"Is it now," she pours him the refill.  
"You live here long?"  
"All my life."  
He thinks he's made a conquest, but actually she decides to have quick sex. In rebellion against isolation, she invites him back to her apartment. He provides the condom. As she'd guessed, he is very practiced, but in a considerate way. For some reason she had known he'd be considerate. She comes with an odd rush of tenderness, because of the hormone thing.  
"So what, you're in college?"  
He hasn't left right away, and he's noticed her shelf of psychology texts whilst she's in the kitchenette making coffee.  
"Hope to be."  
"That's cool. My, my brother's in college."  
She turns, surprised. The 'Jack O'Conner' had slipped for just a moment and she'd responded to the sound of it. But by the time she refocuses on his face - all of half a second – Jack is back, and whoever that was is re-buried. For some reason, she pursues it, bringing the coffee over:  
"Must be nice to have a brother or sister."  
"Yeah," he snorts.  
"What, you don't get along?"  
"Not so much," he takes the coffee, smiling. She could be his waitress again.  
"That's a pity," she says, masochistically: "Families ought to stick together, these days."  
"Oh yeah, why's that?" his smile freezes a little.   
"Oh you know," she shrugs lightly. "Modern isolation, and all. Doesn't everybody want human relationships?"  
"Love makes the world go round." Sarcastic.  
"You don't think it does?"  
"I think some of us got important things on our minds, honey. Thanks for the coffee."  
"Oh yeah, fucking important." She's angry.   
He stands up. Looks at her condescendingly. She wants to hit him. But no – not quite condescending. Something more distant like that. Like a spectator observing humanity. One of those arrogant aliens.  
"I'm sorry," he says. But it sounds like I'm sorry you feel that way. But you wouldn't understand.  
She shrugs and takes his cup. "Well. I guess you got important things to do."  
"Hey, next time I'm in town-"  
"Yeah."  
People are fucked up, she thinks later that night. People are just so lonely. People kid themselves they've got goals and priorities. She wonders what he thinks he's doing. She quite wants to be a psychologist. Understand everybody. She understands more than he does, anyway. She's only known him for two days and she understands he is running. She wonders if understanding brings the end of isolation, or just the ability to spot, categorize, define these modern plagues.

**Author's Note:**

> Unrated because I have no idea what age this is suitable or not suitable for, but it isn't explicit.


End file.
